I was born in the town of Boston, a town you all know well.
Raised up by honest parents, the truth to you I’ll tell.
Raised up by honest parents, raised up most tenderly,
Until I became a sporting man at the age of twenty-three.

My character was taken and I was sent to jail.
The people tried but all in vain to keep me out on bail.
The jury found me guilty. the clerk he wrote it down.
The judge he passed the sentence to send me to Charlestown.

They put me on the eastbound train one cold December day,
And every station I would pass, this is what they would say:
“There goes the Boston Burglar. His arms in chains are bound.
‘Tis for some crime or other they have sent him to Charlestown.”

There was my aged father a-standing at the bar,
Likewise me dear old mother a-tearing down her hair.
She was tearing down her old grey locks and trembling as she said,
“My son, my son, what have you done to be taken to Charlestown?”

There lives a girl in Boston, a girl that I love well.
If ever I gain my liberty, it's with that girl I'll dwell.
If ever I gain my liberty, there are two things I'll shun,
That being a night street walker and drinking of the rum.